Page 44 of Her Whole Heart
The older man beckoned one of the maids and issued the orders.
“Come,” Mr. Darcy said gently, and ushered them all into a small room. It could hardly be considered a sitting room. It was more of a family parlour. Elizabeth wished to examine the plush rug, the comfortable furniture, and the cool blue walls, but all she could bring herself to do was sink gratefully into a soft settee. Without her cloak, she shivered slightly and clasped her hands together in her lap to still the trembling.
The colonel stepped out to the hall, and Miss Darcy stood and addressed Elizabeth. “May I sit with you, Miss Elizabeth?”
“Of course,” Elizabeth told her. Miss Darcy sat, and Elizabeth was grateful for the weight and warmth of another body next to hers. “Iamsorry, Miss Darcy. Had the conversation not taken the turn that it did, you would not have felt compelled to depart.”
“It was not your fault, not at all,” the girl insisted. “I should not have left, but it was terrible. I do not know how you could stand it.”
“You need not worry for me, I am inured to such behaviour and regard it not at all. Lady Henrietta and I are not the best of friends,” Elizabeth said wryly. “Though I cannot say why she had taken such a deep dislike to me. I want nothing more from her than polite indifference.”
Elizabeth thought over the events of the day, recalling the way the horses smelled, the way they became larger and larger as they approached. Her stomach twisted, and she felt a little ill. Lady Henrietta had said nothing she had not expected to experience in London. But there were no words witty enough to arrest the forward motion of a coach and six.
When she took a steadying breath and looked up, Mr. Darcy was still gazing at her. Though she had attempted to put on a brave face, he had seen her mask slip. He had witnessed her panic, seen the fragility beneath her usual poise. It was unnerving, to be so thoroughlyexposed.
Yet she, too, had been granted the sight of an unguarded moment. When Mr. Darcy was holding his sister in a desperate embrace, mere seconds after the peril had passed, Elizabeth had seen the stark terror etched into his handsome countenance. It would remain with her forever. In that moment, Elizabeth had understood that Mr. Darcy was not a man without feeling, but rather one who felt deeply. She had seen a fiercely devoted brother, a man who would place his sister’s well-being above his own.
What must it be like to be the object of such a devotion? Elizabeth was certain she would never know. Her lot in life was to care for others, not to be the one cared for. Jane was the most wonderful sister she could ever hopeto have, but there were things Elizabeth did not reveal even to her. Mamma was angry with her all the time, and her father would hardly be moved from his book room. Had something happened to her today, Elizabeth was not certain he would even have inconvenienced himself long enough for a trip to London.
Miss Darcy leaned against Elizabeth—it was not proper, of course, but the poor girl was done in. She clearly needed a friend, and that she could, would happily, provide. The girl quivered intermittently, and Elizabeth wrapped an arm around her, finding that her own tremors were lessened in tending to Miss Darcy’s.
The colonel returned with two shawls. One he held out to Elizabeth, the other he gently draped over Miss Darcy’s shoulders. Elizabeth was grateful for the additional warmth.
The colonel and Mr. Darcy retired to the other side of the room and conversed in low murmurs, their expressions etched in matching lines of concern.
The tea arrived. Elizabeth lifted an eyebrow at Mr. Darcy, silently inquiring whether he would like for her to pour as his sister was in no condition to perform the task. He shook his head slightly at her, doing the honours himself, adding two heaping spoonfuls of sugar to the cups, then stirring it in. He held one out to his sister and the other to Elizabeth.
She did not like sweet tea, but she lifted the cup to her lips, attempting to ignore the slight tremor that still afflicted her, and dutifully drank it all. Miss Darcy’s lips curled down in distaste, but she, too, finished the drink.
“How are you feeling?” Mr. Darcy asked from where he was perched on the edge of the chair opposite them. Elizabeth studied him. He had a kind face. Why did he not display it more often?
“I am well, Brother, thank you.” Miss Darcy set her cup and saucer aside.
“Miss Elizabeth?” he asked, his piercing eyes boring into hers.
“I am well, sir.”
Mr. Darcy did not appear to believe her, but he nodded and spoke to the colonel. “We should send a note back to Miss Amberley’s so that Miss Elizabeth’s sister knows where to find her.”
“I will see to that,” Colonel Fitzwilliam said. He turned to Elizabeth. “You have my gratitude, Miss Elizabeth. If you or your sister ever find yourself in need of anything, you need only send word to me.”
Elizabeth nodded, too unsure to speak, and the colonel turned smartly on his heel and left the room.
“He and my brother share my guardianship,” Miss Darcy whispered to her.
Not two minutes later, the click of the knob turning heralded the return of Colonel Fitzwilliam, who was leading Lady Carlisle into the room. Jane and Amelia hovered anxiously behind her. Apparently, there had been no need to send a note.
“Miss Elizabeth,” Lady Carlisle said grandly, her typically impassive countenance betraying a glimpse of relief upon seeing Elizabeth. “Imagine my astonishment to arrive at the Amberleys’ home and not find you within. I trust you are both well after your . . . ordeal?”
Elizabeth wondered how Lady Carlisle already knew about the near accident. She opened her mouth, intending to reassure the countess that they were unharmed, but Miss Darcy spoke first, her soft tones still tinged with a lingering distress.
“We are both well,” she said, glancing at Elizabeth, who nodded encouragingly. “But if not for Miss Elizabeth’s swift intervention . . .”
“Yes, quite.” Lady Carlisle’s gaze slid to meet Elizabeth’s, and her lips drew taut. “While I cannot condone such rashness, I am relieved that your actions prevented any further unpleasantness.”
Elizabeth supposed that was one way to phrase it. She was too weary even to bristle at the hint of censure in her sponsor’s tone. Lady Carlisle was responsible for her and well within her rights to offer the chastisement, no matter how necessary Elizabeth’s impulsive actions had been.
“We must ask you to pardon us, Miss Darcy,” Jane said, and Amelia nodded shame-facedly beside her. “I fear our talk became too sharp for you. It is entirely understandable that you would wish to depart.”
